


Weakness

by TeaandBanjo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, MFMM Smutuary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 10:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17765429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaandBanjo/pseuds/TeaandBanjo
Summary: Jack Robinson goes to one of Mrs. Prudence Stanley’s evening parties.  Phryne does not approve.  She starts asking questions, like she does.For the Smutuary prompt, "Weakness".





	Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Seldarius for a very careful beta read! The story has benefited tremendously. It might even make sense now! ;)

Jack slowly worked his way through the crowd of fashionably dressed party guests near the entry. It seems Mrs. Stanley knew everyone in Melbourne, and had invited almost all of them. He had promised Phryne and Mrs. Stanley that he would be at this party, and here he was. The clean shirt and the dinner jacket had improved his mood for a little while, but there wasn’t enough joy in a command appearance at a charity event to keep the cheer going for very long. Music and voices rolled though like waves, too quickly for him to process. 

He passed the grand main staircase, to the corridor behind it where the back stairs descended to the kitchen. He would beg one of the servants to make a pot of coffee, or some really strong tea, and he’d be able to stay on his feet for another couple of hours. The yellow wallpaper seemed to be crawling, until he looked at it directly.

“Jack!” Phryne appeared as if by magic, in a cloud of blue-green silk. The smile on her lips slowly collapsed, and her brows pulled inward in a frown. “Are you alright?”

“Miss Fisher!” He pulled her against himself and dodged the feathers of her fascinator to press his nose into her hair. “Tired. I got pulled into an enormous investigative mess, and finally managed to pass the reports back.”

“Oh, Jack.” Her voice was soft, but her eyes were still fierce. She glanced left and right, and steered him to put his back against the wall, between two decorative columns in the hallway. The wall was solid.

He blinked, and tried to get her to come into focus. She shimmered with beads and jewels. “You look lovely.” 

“Wait until you see the lingerie.” Her eyes glittered with curiosity. “What happened, anyway, and why didn’t you call me?” 

“Nobody died. It’s not important.” He sighed. She was going to find out eventually. “A conspiracy among police cadets to acquire and consume unauthorized alcohol. If they expelled everyone involved, there would be six cadets left, but there is nothing like wrathful bureaucracy…”

“Lucky it wasn’t anything serious like banned books.” Phryne snorted.

“That attitude towards authority is exactly why I didn’t call you.” She was always good for a different point of view, and he felt the tension between his shoulders easing slightly. He smiled to himself. 

“This is for you,” she whispered, pressing her body closer, as her hand found its way into one of his trouser pockets.

“Phryne?” As usual, he wasn’t following. Her perfume was not helping. Jack wanted to curl up next to her and sleep for a week.

“That’s the key to an empty bedroom in the servant’s wing” She pressed her hand against his hip, so he could feel the metal shape.

“Where? How many bedrooms are there in this place?” He’d been all over the house during a previous case, but his mind was now fuzzy on the details of the floor plan. Except that the cook was probably in the basement, and there might be a kettle, and a tea pot, and some tea.

“Upstairs. Deadly quiet. All the servants are working the party.” She put her hand against his jaw, turned his head to face her. “Go nap for a couple of hours. You need it.”

“I put on the dinner jacket, I’m here, and I’m not going to leave now.” The wall was comfortably stable against his back. 

Phryne rolled her eyes. “It’s not a showing weakness to skip a party when you are too tired to walk in a straight line before starting in on the champagne.”

“I’m fine. Really.” He tried to show a smile. “I will stay away from the champagne.”

“You made your appearance, darling.” The woman was straightening his tie, and gazing at him from underneath her eyelashes. “Get some sleep. I promise it will be a completely covert operation.”

“You are making this sound more like an assignation than a nap, Miss Fisher.” He enunciated carefully, and attempted the smile again. “The esteemed Mrs. Stanley does not currently regard me with favor.” 

She raised one eyebrow. “She’s all talk, Jack. It’s not like you poached one of her cooks or something really dire.”

“Whatever the reason, I’m not in a good position to decline an invitation.” 

“You are at the party, she just doesn’t know exactly where. Later, when you are well rested, you will thank her for a lovely evening.” Phryne’s voice was sure and certain, as if it had already happened.

“If I were going to sleep, I would have done so at home.” Now, if he could just convince his body of this. He was going to march down the stairs to the kitchen, where there was some very strong tea.

Phryne leaned against the wall next to him, keeping a warm, gentle grip on his elbow, and slowly tipped her head onto his shoulder. Her fingertips lightly caressed the back of his hand, an intimacy that was inappropriate, but calming. He could hear her soft, even breathing, and he was just going to close his eyes for a minute…

Phryne cleared her throat, and he felt his head snap up. “Go get some sleep,Inspector. Don’t make me threaten you.” He was unpleasantly alert again. 

Jack felt himself blush. That trick should not work on a grown man. “A quick kip, and back here before things break up?”

“What a clever plan, Jack!” She showed her teeth in triumph, and minutely readjusted one of his lapels.

The chatter and music diminished as Phryne escorted him to the bottom of the back stairs. Soon it was just the two of them, and passing white-coated waiters with trays of stemware.

“Go!” She squeezed his fingers. “Third door on the right.”

“Enjoy your evening, Phryne.” He considered pulling her back and kissing her, but that would smudge the perfect red lipstick. Reluctantly, he released her hand.

“Oh, I plan to!” Her wicked smile was almost enough for him to follow her back towards the crowd, but not quite. He wanted to apologize. He was supposed to watch her be charming, he had planned to dance with his arms around her. Instead, there was a quiet place to sleep at the top of the stairs.

The back stairs were plain light wood, and the walls were a restful beige. It seemed like a long way up, and he couldn’t decide if it were the high ceilings, or how long he’d been awake. He briefly wondered when both knees had begun complaining about walking upstairs.

There was the door. He opened it, to an empty bedroom, as promised. The last of the afternoon’s sunlight tinted the walls orange, and he didn’t bother switching on the lights.

The room was exactly what he would expect from a servant’s room. There was an iron-frame bed, next to the window. The plain wooden chest of drawers supported a lamp, and someone had left a couple of hangers on some pegs when he or she moved out.

A turn of the key slid the bolt home and shut out the rest of the house. He undressed, hanging the jacket and vest, then folding shirt and trousers neatly over the chair to ensure he’d be able to reassemble the outfit and still be presentable. Later.

The bed was more comfortable than it looked. The sheets were smooth, and the pillow positively luxurious. Mrs. Stanley must take good care of her staff. His eyes closed without any persuasion on his part.

 

Jack was pushed away from the darkness of sleep to open his eyes in the darkness of a small room. Smooth sheets were under him, and his feet bare under the covers. The bed was not his, or even the silk-draped one where Phryne sometimes entertained. He challenged his memory to come up with where he went to sleep.

Jack remembered. It was time to get dressed again. He was absent from Mrs. Stanley’s society event.

A stripe of light from the hall came under the door, and he could see a shadow. A foot was blocking the light, and he imagined the person who owned it might be trying the door knob.

The sound of metal on metal was unexpected, and therefore attention-getting. He felt the familiar rush of fear that an undercover operation was about to wrong, and he would be found.

The door creaked on its hinges. He got a brief glimpse of a slender, dark-haired woman in fancy dress, and the creak of the hinges was followed by the sound of the bolt, again. If he had wondered before about Phryne carrying her lock pick all the time, he didn’t anymore. He was still safe, at least, as safe as a man could be with Miss Fisher around.

He lay still, listening to the room. Heels tapped on the floor, then the sound of each empty shoe being dropped. Slowly and quietly, he sat up.

“Why don’t you turn on the light, Mata Hari?” Jack remembered a lamp next to the bed, and reached for it. “Did someone miss me at the party? I can be dressed and back downstairs in ten minutes.” His fingers found the switch, and illuminated Miss Fisher, who was lifting her skirt to stow the lockpick in the top of a stocking.

“I missed you, Jack.” She approached, slowly and deliberately, with a swing to her hips that seemed to hint at something, if he could just get his brain to consider the process of getting himself dressed and making his appearance, instead of thinking about how her body would feel pressed against his.

“The situation must be quite desperate for you to come looking for a policeman.” His voice was hoarse, and he needed to focus.

“Oh, but it is. I wanted to surprise you!” She was pouting, and it was adorable. He wasn’t exactly sure how her dressmaker had used so much blue fabric, and not been able to have enough left to cover Phryne’s shoulders.

“You certainly did. It was a very proper covert operation.” Jack was feeling much more alert, and the doona was concealing how much more so. 

Phryne’s eyes were dark, and watching him carefully. He had a feeling he would be agreeing to whatever ridiculous request she made next, and her casual smirk said that she knew it.

He swung his feet off the bed and onto the carpet. “How can I be of assistance?” Whatever plan he had, Miss Fisher clearly had something different in mind.

She stood between his knees and rested her hands on his shoulders. “There are some buttons I can’t reach. I hate to put you to the trouble.” 

“It’s no trouble at all.” He traced his fingers up the slick fabric of her dress, sooner or later he would get to the buttons.

Phryne made a little hum of delight, and pulled him closer. She smelled of perfume, and sweat from dancing. Jack needed a taste, and the touch of her lips drove all the words out of his head.

At some point, she broke the kiss. “Jack,” she whispered, “I asked for help with the buttons.”

“Right.” He probably needed to breathe now. “Were you planning to do something that might wrinkle the dress?”

“You are.” Phryne was now methodically unbuttoning his union suit.

Jack reached down and lifted the hem of her dress, and slid his palms up the warm curve of her calves, past her knees. “I don't know what you mean, Miss Fisher.” He grinned, and her smile mirrored his.

 

Some time later, Jack remembered where they were. He was curled around Phryne’s bare body, and his feet were hanging off the end of the bed. The two of them were tangled in the sheets. Which happened to be in Prudence Stanley’s house, and he assumed the party was still going on. He had an uneasy sense of being out of place, and imagined a panel of angry society ladies assembled to question him about his absence of proper evening wear and his choice of dance moves.

“Phryne, does your aunt know you are here?” He used one finger to draw a circle around her navel.

“No.” She giggled, disrupting his imaginary circle.

“Is she going to send someone to come looking for you? Do you need to be downstairs?” Jack began to plan getting his clothes back on his person. No telling where her garments had gotten to. 

“Relax, Jack.” She picked up his hand, and examined it. “Aunt P. knows that I’ll show up sometime before two in the morning, demanding more champagne.”

“Alright, I’m really worried about me. When is she going to notice that she hasn’t seen me?”

“She trusts you, Jack. You’ve done a lot for me, and for our family. So, what did you do to get on her bad side?” she demanded, as if she didn’t believe him.

“Well, do you remember Christopher Anderson?”

“Kip!” She smiled. “I wrote him a really lovely reference letter a few months ago. Dot sent it to an agency.”

Jack coughed nervously. “Mrs. Collins misled you. That letter, and a few other character references, went with Kip’s application for the Police academy.”

“Sneaky!” Phryne’s eyes shone with her approval. “Was that your idea?”

“Yes.” Jack pulled her closer, and continued in a whisper, “So, young Kip Anderson was accepted as a cadet, and is now studying the art and science of policing. Which means he is no longer in the employ of Mrs. McNaster, and your aunt credits me with stealing a valued servant from one of her friends.”

“Jack, my aunt does not approve of people mistreating servants, and both of us saw how poorly Mrs. McNaster managed her one surviving servant.” Phryne whispered back, “I don’t think Aunt P. was surprised when Kip gave his notice, because she and Cook were on the train that very day to go stay with Hilly and help her interview new staff.”

“That’s a bit of a relief, although I’ve been repaid for my meddling. The … um … liquor smuggling may not have been Kip’s idea originally, but he planned it, assigned other cadets to tasks, and ran it sufficiently well that it wasn’t detected until some empty bottles were discovered.” 

“Poor Kip. I guess he’s on his way back to his gran in Queenscliff?” She sighed. 

“There was some debate. They were simultaneously appalled by Cadet Anderson’s lack of judgement, which is sort of expected for cadets, and impressed by a complicated undercover operation, successfully run.” 

“So, what happened?” Phryne propped herself on one elbow.

“They dug out the rule book, and the whole lot of cadets are going to experience every single penalty, official and unofficial, short of kicking them back out.” Jack scrubbed a hand across his face. He really hoped that Kip had learned from the experience.

“Which does not explain why you showed up, dead on your feet, at this party.” She poked him for emphasis.

“It was the decision of the investigating officer that every single detective that could be spared get called in, so he could have at least three officers present at every interview of ever single one of the offending cadets, and we were going to tread carefully along the line of ‘hostile’, but not quite over.” Jack reflected that it was an object lesson for the cadets about what it was like to be on the wrong end of a police investigation.

“What a bunch of pompous nonsense.” Phryne’s Collingwood upbringing was showing.

“Precisely.” Jack stretched. It was nice not to be wearing a suit, doubly so to be next to Phryne.

She twisted towards him, pressing quite a lot of her skin against his. “I don’t think Aunt P is quite as cross as you think.” One of her hands cupped his arse, and pulled him closer. “She told me to make sure you had a good time at the party.”

“I don't think this is what she meant.” He brushed a wisp of her hair out of her eyes and let his hand drift down her spine, to rest in the warm curve just above her bottom.

“She wasn't specific about the details.” Phryne shrugged, in a way that seemed calculated to keep his attention on her nipples. “This seemed like it would work.”

Jack let out a breath. “It did.” He realized he was giggling, and tried to muffle the undignified noise by pressing his face against her chest.

“I’m so glad.” Phryne’s fingers were toying with his hair. “You know, I’ve always said anything worth doing is worth overdoing.”

“If this isn’t already ‘overdoing,’” said Jack, as he rolled Phyne flat onto the mattress and climbed over her, “I’d very much like to find out what is.”

“I’ll show you,” she purred.


End file.
